Home For Christmas
by MTC29
Summary: Join Harmon Rabb Senior, his wife Trish, five year old son Harm Junior, and their friends Tom Boone and Bill and Vicki Ross on Christmas Eve, 1968. Then catch up with Harm Jr. and Tom Boone on Christmas Eve, 2009.


Home For Christmas

[A/N] According to JAG canon, today would be the 50th anniversary of Harmon Rabb Senior being shot down over what was then North Vietnam. The TV series documented the events of Christmas Eve 1969 aboard _USS Ticonderoga_, so I decided to go back to Christmas Eve 1968 and imagine Harm Senior, Trish, Little Harm, Tom Boone, and Bill and Vicki Ross together on Christmas Eve in San Diego.

All of my stories are "linked," and while it would be useful to have read the other three (feel free to do so), it is not vital for reading and understanding this one. Although this story is technically not AU, I decided early on to ignore the events in the NCIS episodes. I think that all of us have.

* * *

Wednesday, 24 December, 1968  
1430 PDT  
Harmon Rabb Sr. residence  
San Diego, CA

The kitchen in the Rabb's two bedroom bungalow was small, but Patricia Rabb had mastered to tricks needed to prepare delicious meals inside its cramped confines. Vicki Ross, Trish's best friend and the wife of Bill Ross, had come to the house and was lending a hand preparing Christmas dinner.

It was Vicki who had arranged the blind date which brought Trish and Harmon Rabb together, and both women were waiting for their naval aviator husbands, and their good friend Tom Boone, to return home from flight training Yuma.

Five year old Harmon Rabb Junior, who had been underfoot all day, poked his head inside the kitchen. "Can we go to the park and play?"

"There is not enough time. Besides, you've already had your bath, and I don't want to put you into the tub a second time," Trish told him. "Did you clean up the living room and put away your coloring books and crayons like I asked you to do?"

"Not yet," the boy admitted.

"Then get busy," and Little Harm grudgingly did so.

Vicki poured a second glass of white wine. "What time are the boys expected to arrive?"

"When Harm called from Yuma he said that they'd be here by 1600. I'm thrilled that they don't have to return to Yuma until Sunday night."

"I suppose that the Navy has to show a bit of generosity now and then. Not that I'm looking forward to having Bill around the house for four days."

"The last time that Harm was home for four straight days was during a winter break with the Blue Angeles. That seems like a lifetime ago."

"I wish Bill could fly well enough for the Blue's to take him. He sent in an application last year. I imagine the Navy is still laughing."

Trish turned and looked at her friend. "Harm turned down a billet as a flight instructor at Pensacola. I wanted him to accept, but he chose to stay with the squadron."

"I suppose being with the squadron is where Harm feels that can do the most good," said Vicki.

It was not the answer that Trish wanted to hear. "More so than a stateside billet to be with his wife and young son?"

"Sweetie, we cash their paychecks every month. The Navy expects something in return."

"How do you feel about Bill flying?" Trish asked.

"How I feel about anything wouldn't matter to Bill."

"But you don't like it."

"What if I don't? I could file for divorce, but I'm married to Bill Ross and not to Howard Hughes. Getting half of nothing is nothing."

As Vicki reached for her purse and took out a pack a Pall Mall cigarettes, Trish wondered how her once carefree high school girl friend could have become so jaded?

"I thought you quit?" Trish asked.

"New Years resolution."

"Smoke outside. I can't stand the smell."

"You used to smoke more than I do."

"I wish that I had never started. When I learned I was pregnant I quit. Besides, with morning sickness for the first two months, smoking was the last thing on my mind. Having a baby might work for you too," Trish suggested.

"Ha! I'll pass that along to Bill. Until then, I'll try chewing a stick of gum," said Vicki, who stepped out to the backyard to light up.

Little Harm returned to the kitchen. "I put everything away. Can we turn on the outside Christmas lights?"

"We have to wait until sunset. Otherwise no one can see them."

"Can we plug in the Christmas tree lights?" Decorating the tree had been a welcome diversion for Little Harm.

"I don't see why not. But let me do it. You know I don't like you playing with the electrical outlets."

Trish left the kitchen with her son in tow and they headed into the living room where the largest tree which fit inside their station wagon stood proud and tall.

Trish plugged in the extension cord and the tree lit up magnificently. "We did a fine job decorating the tree. The two of us make a good team," she told her son, who couldn't stop talking about Santa Claus.

"When do we put the star on top of the tree?" Harm asked in an eager voice.

"When Daddy gets home. He's the only one tall enough to reach that high. Once the star is on top of the tree we will be ready for Santa Claus to come tonight."

"Will Tom and Bill and Vicki stay and wait for Santa?"

"Bill and Vicki will have to go home, but Tom will be staying with us tonight. Before you go to bed, you can help me to unfold the sofa bed for him."

"Yay! Tom's staying." Little Harm adored Tom Boone, and Boone, who had nieces and nephews of his own, wasn't as close to any of them as he was to Harm Junior.

"Now turn on the TV and wait for Daddy to come home," Trish instructed, and Little Harm sat quietly in front of the set and began watching a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

When Trish returned to the kitchen, she saw that Vicki had poured another glass of wine. "That's your third glass."

"You're counting? Leave that chore to Bill. He's good at it."

"All I'm saying is that you should pace yourself."

Vicki ignored everything that Trish had said. "What else can I do to help?"

"You can get the sweet potato casserole into the oven."

Vicki went to the fridge and removed the heavy dish. "This looks good. Is it your recipe?"

"No, it's Harm's mother's 'special holiday casserole'. I swear to god, Sarah Harmon Rabb will be the death of me."

"Sarah Rabb lives on the east coast. How much trouble can she be?"

"Pennsylvania is not so far away that she can't check on her son. Sarah Rabb went so far as to send me all of her recipes, which included detailed cooking instructions. That way everything will be just the way that Harm likes it...just like mommy made it."

Trish took Vicki's wine glass and drained it.

"You'd better pace yourself," Vicki teased.

"Sarah Rabb is over protective. I could never be that kind of mother, at least not to a son who is a grown man."

"Sweetie, when you marry a man after your second date, his mother is inclined to wonder what kind of daughter in law she's getting."

"She thought that I was pregnant."

"That would be the normal conclusion. Of course I knew better because I was the one who set you and Harm up on your first date."

"For that, I am eternally grateful." Trish looked at the clock. "Tom claims he is going to make the run from Yuma in under two hours, so we have about fifteen minutes. The boys will want a snack when they get home, so we should get the appetizers ready."

Vicki poured another glass of wine and then moved to the fridge. "I'm on it."

"Is the beer cold?"

"Ice cold. And Trish, thanks for having Bill and I over for dinner."

"It wouldn't be Christmas without you and Bill and Tom."

"We need to find a steady girlfriend for Tom. It's time that he settles down," said Vicki.

"You're right. I didn't care for Peggy, the waitress he brought with him to Little Harm's birthday party," and while the girls put the final touches on dinner, they discussed matchmaking for an unwitting Tom Boone.

* * *

The noise from the 3 inch chambered exhaust of Tom Boone's brand new 1969 Chevrolet Chevelle SS could be heard long before Boone pulled the car into Harmon Rabb's driveway.

"Time hack. 2 hours, 5 minutes, 10 seconds. Tom, you didn't get below the two hour mark," Bill Ross announced from the backseat.

"I could have done it, except that you two clowns had to get those damned hot dogs at the gas stop in El Centro."

"We would have made it if you would have let us eat them in the car," Harmon Rabb spoke up from the front seat.

"No one eats anything in this car," Boone insisted. "I'll be damned if I'll risk getting mustard on these seats. The premium vinyl package cost me $111."

The front door to the house flew open and Little Harm rushed to the car. "Daddy!"

Big Harm freed his 6-5 frame from the premium vinyl bucket seat and grabbed his son. "Hi Champ." Harm lifted the boy up gave him a big kiss. "I swear that you're even bigger than when I saw you last week. Now, say hello to Tom and Bill."

"Hi Tom. Hi Bill. Did you bring Christmas presents?"

"Harmon, that's not polite," Big Harm said in a firm voice.

"I'm sorry."

"Come here, buddy," and Tom Boone gave the boy a hug. "Come to think of it, there are some Christmas gifts in the trunk, and I'll bet that some of them belong to you."

Little Harm's face broke into a big smile.

While the men began removing their luggage and carefully wrapped boxes from the trunk, Little Harm ran into the house. "Mommy, mommy. Daddy's home."

Trish came out of the kitchen, wiped her hands on her apron, and then raced to greet her husband.

Harm grabbed his young wife and held her tightly. "Hi, Baby."

"I'm glad you're home safe," she whispered.

"Of course I'm home safe." Harm pointed to his two friends. "I have Tom and Bill with me. Do you suppose that we can feed them?"

"I think that I can scrape something together for dinner."

"Where is Vicki?" Bill Ross asked.

"She stepped out to the backyard for some air."

Ross frowned, and walked through the kitchen and outside where his wife had just put out a cigarette. Bill kissed her and wrinkled his nose. "You've been drinking again."

"Don't get started with me."

"How much have you had this afternoon?"

"Not enough to put up with your crap," said Vicki, who went inside to greet Harm and Tom, who were already drinking cold beers.

"Dinner will be served in 20 minutes," Trish announced.

"Daddy has to put the star on the tree, otherwise Santa won't come tonight," Little Harm insisted.

"Your father just came home. Let him relax for a little while," said Trish, who returned to the kitchen.

Once the coast was clear, Big Harm rose to his feet. "We can't run the risk of Santa not coming. I say we put up the star right away. What do you say, men?"

"Better do it now," said Bill Ross.

"Absolutely. Santa needs to know that we mean business," said Tom Boone, who watched Big Harm pick up the star shaped ornament and approach the Christmas tree with a purpose.

Harmon Rabb Senior stood 6-5; nearly the maximum height allowed for a naval aviator. Harm had very long arms and although he could have easily put the star atop the tree, he feigned not be able to reach high enough.

"Looks like you're coming up a bit short, Harm," said Boone.

"I guess I need a wingman." Harm looked at his son. "Can you help me out, Champ?"

"Yes, Daddy," and Big Harm bent down so that the boy could climb onto his shoulders.

"You're so heavy that I don't know if I can hold you." Big Harm began a mock stagger around the living room, much to the enjoyment of his son who was laughing uncontrollably, as were Tom and Bill, who were both enjoying the show.

"You've got a nasty list to starboard, Harm. You'd better take on ballast," said Boone, who handed Harm a bottle of beer just as Trish flew out of the kitchen.

"What on earth is going on out here?" Trish demanded.

"We have to get the star on top of the tree before its too late," said Harm. "Are you ready, Champ?"

"I'm ready, Daddy."

Big Harm made his way to the tree and raised his son high enough so that he was easily able to reach the top of the tree.

When the boy added the star, cheers erupted from Tom and Bill.

Trish sighed. "Raising one little boy is tough enough. Sometimes I think I have three more sons."

Tom Boone looked at Trish. "Hey, mom. Do we get to watch the _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ TV special tonight?"

"Go in and wash for dinner, Tom," replied Trish, who was not amused.

* * *

The dining room was small and with six people crowded around the table it seemed even smaller. Big Harm was at the head of the table with Bill and Vicki Ross on his left, while Tom Boone and Little Harm sat on his right; with their backs literally against the wall.

Big Harm spoke softly. "I won't pretend to be a chaplain, but the six of us don't get together often enough, so I'd like to say a few words." Everyone joined hands at the table and Harm continued. "Dear Lord, I'm grateful to be with my family and with my best friends tonight. Though for another season we must be at war, help us to live for peace. Encourage our hearts as we try to encourage one another, and continue to bless our departed loved ones and keep them safe and in your tender care."

"Amen," came the chorus from around the table.

"Well said, Harm," Tom Boone told his closest friend.

"Thanks, Tom. Let me carve you a drumstick," and Boone received the first slice of turkey.

* * *

Everyone agreed that the dinner had been magnificent. Trish was still basking in their appreciation while she and Vicki, who had drank the better part of a bottle of white wine with dinner, cleared away the dessert plates.

When the boys went into the living room, Little Harm told his father, "Mommy said that we can open one present tonight."

"That's fine, but Tom and Bill and I are going to have a drink first."

Harm went to the liquor cabinet, poured three glasses of Johnnie Walker Black Label, and then passed two of them to Tom and Bill.

Vicki Ross came into the room. "Harm, I'd like some of that Scotch."

Harm poured a glass while her husband frowned. Vicki downed it quickly, and then asked for another.

Bill Ross looked his wife. "No."

"You're not the boss of me. Harm, I want another drink."

Bill held up his hand. "You've been drinking all afternoon. You've had enough. Now sit down," and Vicki flopped into a chair.

"Champ, go to the kitchen and tell your mother to bring Vicki a cup of coffee," Harm instructed his son who quickly headed for the kitchen.

Vicki looked up at Big Harm. "You're little boy is so sweet. I wish I had a son just like him." Vicki shifted her glance to her husband. "But that would mean that Bill would have to do something in bed besides reading flight manuals."

"That's enough," said Ross.

"Bill wants to be a flight instructor. Can you imagine him instructing anyone in anything? Harm turned down the billet at Pensacola, and they won't even accept Bill's application."

"I said that's enough," Ross insisted.

Trish came out of the kitchen with the coffee and Vicki looked at her. "I set you up with Harm, but I should have kept him on the side for myself."

Bill Ross got up from the sofa and pulled his wife to her feet. "We're leaving. Harm, Trish, thank you for dinner," said Ross, who moved Vicki towards the door.

"That's the first time he's touched me in a month. Can you believe it?" said Vicki, while Bill Ross pushed his wife through the door and then closed it behind them.

"Yes, I can believe it," said Tom Boone.

"How long has her drinking been going on?" Harm asked Trish.

"I don't know. She keeps mostly to herself during the days, and she never answers the phone in the afternoons."

"She's probably drunk by lunch time," said Boone.

"What's the matter with aunt Vicki?" Little Harm asked his father.

"Vicki got sick, so she and Bill had to go home. Go ahead and open one of your presents right now."

All thoughts of Vicki Ross vanished.

"Just one gift," cautioned Trish.

Little Harm selected a large cylinder shaped gift from under the tree, set it down in the center of the living room and tore away the wrapping paper.

"Lincoln Logs!" which were a children's toy using square-notched miniature logs which could be used to build small forts and buildings. "Will you build something with me tonight?" Little Harm asked Tom Boone.

"Sure I will, buddy. I love these things. I wish someone would give me a set for Christmas."

"Maybe next year, Tom, but only if you're good," joked Big Harm who retrieved one of the gifts which had been in the car and handed it to Trish. "This is for you, Baby."

"I thought we'd open our gifts tomorrow."

"You and Little Harm each get to open one gift tonight."

"Open your present, Mommy," Little Harm urged.

Trish unwrapped the box and found a blue oval jewelry case. Trish opened the case revealing an 18" strand of Mikimoto pearls, along with matching studs and a bracelet.

"My god. They're stunning."

"I picked them out in Hong Kong during our last deployment. Tom was with me."

"Harm was going to get you a smaller set of pearls, but I insisted that he buy you the bigger ones," Boone joked.

"I can't believe it," Trish said over and over again. "I've never had any sort of jewelry like this before."

"You deserve them," said Harm, who kissed his pretty young wife.

"Put them on, Mommy," Little Harm urged, and Trish turned around so that Big Harm could place the strand around her neck.

Harm Senior was a big man and he had huge hands, but he also had a delicate touch and he set the clasp easily.

"You look beautiful, Baby," Harm told Trish.

Tom Boone gave a low wolf whistle. "Very classy."

"You look pretty, Mommy," said little Harm, who quickly began playing with his Lincoln Logs.

"Let me give you a hand with those, buddy," said Boone, who sat down on the floor next to the boy.

"I wouldn't mind helping out. Scoot over, Champ" and Big Harm sat down next to his son.

"This is the best Christmas ever!" said Little Harm.

While father and son began separating the Lincoln Log pieces into groups, Tom Boone laid out the design for a log cabin. As they worked together, Harm and Tom began talking about flying and their upcoming deployment to Vietnam.

With Harm and his entire squadron gone until early 1970, Trish wondered what Christmas Eve 1969 would be like?

"I'll bring in the eggnog," said Trish, who retreated unnoticed into the kitchen, and still wearing her pearls.

* * *

Friday, 24 December, 2009  
1830 EDT  
Vietnam Veterans Memorial  
Washington DC

"It really was the best Christmas ever," said Admiral Tom Boone, who stood next to Harmon Rabb Jr. at the Vietnam Memorial Wall. "It was also the last time that all six of of us were together."

"For most of my life, that was the last Christmas Eve that I truly enjoyed," said Harm Junior.

"Does you mother still have those pearls?" Boone asked.

"She gave them to Mac."

"That was nice of Trish. How's she doing these days? I mean now that Frank has passed away."

"My mom is still in the house in La Jolla, but with Frank gone, she's lonely. You should give her a call."

Boone shook his head. "That ship sailed a long time ago."

"Ships can always return to port. Especially to a safe harbor. Call her, Tom."

"I'll think about it," said Boone, who intended to phone Trish that night.

"By the way, did you ever make the run to Yuma in under two hours?" asked Harm.

"No, but I wish that I still had that Chevelle. It was a great car, especially the premium vinyl package. It was worth spending the extra $111 for those seats."

The two men slowly made their way to the marble panel which held the name of Harm's father, who had been Tom Boone's best friend.

"I figured by now you'd be bringing your own kids here with you," said Boone.

"Even with the specialists, Mac's medical issues makes our having a baby nearly impossible."

"That's a shame. I've always wanted to open presents with Harmon Rabb III on Christmas day. What's Mac doing while you're here in DC?"

"Mac and I have separated."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Mac is a fine woman. I'm sure that the two of you will sort it out."

"I hope so. This is our first Christmas apart. It hurts, but she needs some space right now."

"You gave up a lot for Mac. Especially by losing a coin toss."

"I won the toss, Tom," Harm admitted.

Boone was shocked. "You won! Then why did you leave the Navy?"

"I had to face reality. I got left behind."

"You're an Academy man, Harm. There would always be a place for you."

"I didn't join the Navy to be a placeholder. With my reputation in DC, reaching flag rank would have taken a miracle. That meant the captains billet in London would have been a terminal position for me."

"You don't know that."

"I know that Mac didn't have my baggage. She stands a real chance of getting two stars in the Corps- maybe three. I decided to end my career on my own terms."

"I hear you," said Boone, who chose to end his own naval career one star short of his goal.

"Do you miss the Navy, Tom?"

"Only the flying," admitted Boone, who had lived for flying high performance aircraft.

Rear Admiral Tom Boone finished his naval aviation career with 6,500 flight hours in 21 different types of aircraft with over 1,100 arrested carrier landings. Boone had amassed nearly 1000 hours of combat time, the highest number of combat hours of any active naval aviator. Although Boone had downed three hostile aircraft; all of them hard-kills in aerial combat, the greatest honor came in 2007 when he received the Tailhook Association Lifetime Achievement Award for his continuous and long-term dedication to and support of carrier aviation.

Even so, Boone's refusal to give up flying was the reason that Patricia Rabb had declined his marriage proposal.

"What was your favorite aircraft?" Harm asked.

"The one I was flying at the time," answered Boone.

"Seriously," Harm asked.

"The F-4 Phantom was a damned fine aircraft. It was also the last U.S. designed fighter that looked as though it could kill someone. The Phantom was all about brute force. Now it's all about stealth. Of course working on the F-35, you know all about that. Do you get to fly much?"

"My working for Lockheed Martin lets me fly a few hours every month, and the money is damned good."

"Since when do you care about money?"

"Of course it's more than that. The F-35 program is important for our nation's security, and to the future of manned naval aviation."

"Damned pilotless drones," Boone spat.

Both men stood in front of the marble panel and Boone watched while Harm rested his hand over the name Harmon Rabb Senior.

"Dad, I just wanted to let you know that I'm here. And I have Tom with me tonight."

Boone was tempted to say something, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he ran his own hand along the panel, only to stop when he found a large crack in the marble. "I didn't notice this crack the last time that you and I were here."

"The crack formed a couple of years ago, and it is spreading. The Park Service claims the cracking is due to thermal cycling. That panel will have to be replaced. I was informed that when that happens, the new panel won't have my dad's name on it."

"What?" Boone was incredulous.

"His dying in the Soviet Union means that he is not eligible to be included in the memorial. I talked to Bobbi Latham about the panel. She's a US Senator now, but there isn't a thing that anyone can do about it. Our hands are tied."

"That's a load of horse shit."

"Once my brother Sergei surfaced, the CIA's cover story blew up in everyone's face."

"I never bought into that story. I knew damned well that your dad was alive on the ground in North Vietnam. I'm sorry about this, Harm. I really am."

"The rules are the rules."

"I never cared much about following rules. I suppose that was my biggest problem in the Navy. What do you say we go out for a beer?"

"I'd like to, but Bud and Harriet Roberts are holding dinner for me."

"Maybe another night," suggested Boone.

"Sure." Harm looked at his watch. "I've got to shove off. Merry Christmas, Tom."

"Merry Christmas, Harm. I'll just stay here and visit with your dad for a little while longer. He'd be proud of you. I know that I am."

"Thanks, Tom. You've always been a good friend- to my father, to my mother, and to me."

The two men shook hands, and when Harm was out of sight, Tom Boone turned to face the wall.

After re-flying the entire mission on 24 December 1969 in his mind, Boone placed his hand over Harm Senior's name, and once again he wondered why such a promising life been snatched away so soon?

_You had everything to live for, Harm. It should have been me shot down instead of you._

Now, just as he had done on every Christmas Eve for the past forty years, Tom Boone wept over the loss of his best friend.


End file.
